


The Shattered Tale

by TheAxrat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAxrat/pseuds/TheAxrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had never reached the ruin's final room. An open wound and a touch of corrupted blood was all it took to force them to turn back. It was a small trick of fate - one that gave Tamlen the opportunity to play a much larger role in the Fifth Blight. He had been left behind, sure, but he wouldn't let that stop him from helping his friend if he could. It may even have seemed as though 'friend' was not quite the right word...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood of the Blight

"Hey... weren't you supposed to be assisting Master Ilen today?" The question echoed through the desolate ruins and, for a moment, Tamlen regretted taking the suggestion to talk. "How did you end up coming with me?" 

Mahariel glanced at him briefly, an uneasy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. It was odd to see her so on edge, but this ruin... it left Tamlen nervous. It wasn't like those places in the forest where the veil thinned and spirits sometimes wandered through. Perhaps that was a contributing factor, but this felt different, somehow. It didn't just feel a little off, it felt _wrong_. Even the spiders were wrong, he noted, as he watched Mahariel poke at one's carcass with the bottom tip of her bow. They had seen giant spiders before, but something wasn't right with these ones. The color was blotchy in patches, darkened with a strange shade of maroon. Not to mention they smelled like carnage.

Mahariel made a face at the sight before she stepped away. "I wanted to spend time with you, so I got out of it." She finally answered as she turned back to face him. 

"I... thought that might be the case." Tamlen shifted on the spot. He could feel his face heating up, and gave a silent prayer to the Creators that Mahariel couldn't see him well enough in the darkness to tell. With the light reflecting in her eyes as it was, he somehow doubted that. "I'm glad." 

Tamlen's throat felt suddenly dry, and he found himself with few words left to say. It frustrated him a little. He was closer to her than anyone else in the clan, yet sometimes she made it absolutely impossible for him to speak. 

"Let's just find whatever's in here and get out." He spoke quickly, more than a little flustered. "We can talk later." 

Mahariel laughed shakily, forcing a smile. "Agreed."

The ruin was a dismal place. The human architecture mixed with Elven artifacts made for a wholly confusing setting for Tamlen. He had listened to all the stories of Arlathan and the Dales, he had seen drawings and made rather abysmal attempts to read the Keeper's books. He had done all he could to learn the histories but this was nothing like what the histories had taught him. There was a statue of Falon'din in the middle of a passageway built by shemlen hands. Even the artifact the shemlen had given them made little sense. Coupled with the overbearing sensation that this was some place they shouldn't be, it was all giving Tamlen a headache. 

"Why _did_ you want to come down here so badly, anyway?" Mahariel asked, turning her attention away from the statue. Tamlen glanced at her, raising a brow. She had right to wonder. He _had_ been rather insistent on exploring this place on their own. 

"Aren't you curious?" He asked, with a false bravado. No doubt she would see right through it, but he felt a little better at least pretending not to be nervous. "We could be discovering our history. Minstrels will write songs about us!" Mahariel gave a nervous laugh at that thought, shaking her head. 

"You're not fooling me, lethallin. What's all this about?"

Tamlen sighed. He should have figured she would press the subject. She always did. "If I were to bring some valuable ancestral artifact back to the keeper, she might forgive me for..." he trailed off, glancing away. "Well, you know." Of course she knew. He was fairly certain she still had bruises from that brawl. They had sneaked into some shemlen camp on the edge of the forest and started a fight with some of the men. Mahariel had managed to escape afterwards and slip back to the clan without anyone realizing she had been gone; He hadn't been so lucky. 

"Thanks for covering for me, by the way." Mahariel looked away with a sheepish expression on her face. He couldn't help but smile a little at that. 

"Of course," he replied, "you know I'd do anything for you." Silence lingered after that statement as Mahariel failed to find the right words to respond. She didn't need to - he knew her well enough to know the feeling was mutual. She had been a close friend for many years, and more than that in the months since she had earned her vallaslin. Despite how close they had been, neither had chosen to acknowledge that bond out loud. Even Tamlen could never find the words. Actions were easier - lingering embraces when the others weren't watching, small gestures when they were... such things didn't require as much thought as finding the right words did. 

Now was hardly the time to be thinking about that, however. "At any rate, I wasn't expecting this place to... feel quite like this. Maybe this wasn't the best idea..." He trailed off, glancing down the hall. It felt like they had just stumbled into some dragon's lair.

"Did you want to turn back?" Mahariel offered. "We found the statue, that might be enough."

That was true. The statue itself and its presence in the ruins was certainly something the Keeper would be interested in. Yet, he wanted to find out more, first. He wanted to know _why_ a statue of Falon'din was in a ruin made of human architecture. "No, there's more here, I know it. Let's keep going - at least, for a little longer."

Tamlen thought his eyes had deceived him when he saw a corpse's arm twitch. The thing had been dead for years, clearly. It couldn't just _move_. Then, of course, it rolled over and made a grab for Mahariel's leg. The world had to prove him wrong, it seemed. 

"Move!" He shouted to his companion, who immediately made to scramble away from the statue - and corpse - without questioning. Before the possessed corpse could attempt to pursue her, Tamlen unsheathed his blade and brought it down on on the creature's neck. It fell still once more, but for good measure, he stabbed it twice more in the spine. 

"Tamlen!" 

The cry caught his attention immediately, and he raised his head to find Mahariel a few paces away with two of the creatures bearing down on her. Their attacks gave her no opportunity to reach for a blade, and it was all she could do to block them with the limbs of her bow. Tamlen sprinted forward immediately, sliding his sword under her arm to impale one of the corpses through the abdomen. Mahariel took the opportunity to kick the second one back. That allowed her the time needed to finally draw a dagger, which she promptly thrust between the creature's ribs. Tamlen could hear the rotted muscles make a revolting squish sound, as well as the almost pitiful 'ew' that escaped Mahariel's lips when she realized what exactly she'd just shoved her hand into. 

"I think you might want to consider a sword next time, lethallan." He muttered as he kicked the corpse off his blade. Mahariel made a face as she tore her dagger - and arm - free from the second corpse's rotted insides. Both undead crumpled uselessly to the floor. 

"...yeah." She managed, trying not to look at her arm. 

Tamlen shook his head, staring at the bodies on the floor. "...were those walking corpses?" He asked, incredulous. It seemed hard to believe, but those were definitely corpses. "Then... this place is haunted." 

"So it seems." Mahariel gave a shaky laugh. "That might explain the weird feeling in here." 

"I dunno..." Tamlen was unconvinced. He had been through areas in the forest where the Veil was thin before, places where spirits were known to possess corpses - and trees - and walk around. This didn't feel like that.

"...yeah, I'm not convinced, either." Mahariel shook her head. "Let's just keep moving, shall we?" 

"Lead on, Lethallan." 

There was little else to go but a single, arched doorway. Mahariel cautiously stepped towards it, carefully trying the knob before pulling it open on hinges that shrieked in the silence. Tamlen was hit by a sudden, nauseating stench of death incarnate, mere moments before a great hulking mass of fur and exposed muscle and bone charged straight for him. Mahariel quickly darted from behind the door and shoved him out of the creature's path. Tamlen hit the floor with a surprised shout. He saw the monstrous creature raise a paw full of claws and violently swipe Mahariel out of the way. She hit the opposite wall, then slid, stunned, to the floor. Her hands clutched at her side as blood began to ooze from deep gashes the beast's claws had gored. 

The monster looked like death in the shape of a bear. Open sores and rotting flesh clung together, exposing bone and decaying muscle alike. Quills of razor-sharp bone jutted out along its body out of open wounds that bled profusely. The sight made Tamlen want to vomit. To say the Dalish hunter was now completely and utterly terrified was an understatement. 

The beast reared up, giving a guttural roar before it charged straight for its wounded adversary. Tamlen scrambled for his sword and immediately lunged at the beast. It twisted away at the last moment with an ease he wouldn't have anticipated, but he had stopped its charge. As the monster turned to stare him down, Mahariel struggled to her feet. One hand was clutching at her wounded side, while the other grasped for one of her daggers.

Tamlen backed off a couple of steps, with his blade pointed squarely at the beast's head. He was shaking, and he had no doubt this creature recognized his fear as it watched him with awful, dead eyes. Just when he had expected it to lash at him, the beast gave a snarling cry and twisted around. Mahariel had plunged her dagger into its flank, distracting it momentarily. The creature spun to retaliate as she slipped on the blood that had began to pool beneath their feet. Tamlen refused to give it the opportunity to attack her again, however, and thrust his blade in between its ribs. It thrashed, nearly impaling him with one of its spines, but its efforts only drove his blade deeper. Mahariel stumbled up again, drawing her second dagger. She quickly plunged it through the beast's eye at the first opportunity, and finally, the beast began to still. 

Time seemed to hang for a moment as Tamlen regained his bearings. Adrenaline was still pumping through his system. The beast had ceased moving but he was scared to back away, lest it somehow rise again and kill them both. 

A choked sob from Mahariel broke him from his stupor. Tamlen immediately looked to her, and paled at the sight. She was slumped against a wall, carefully peeling back the tears of her armor to get a better look at her wound. Even without the blood - a mix of hers and the creature's, he saw - the sight was horrifying. The gashes were beginning to blacken with some foul affliction as the bleeding slowed. Mahariel's legs gave out beneath her as an uncharacteristic whimper escaped her. Tamlen immediately sprang over the dead monster to rush to her side. He clasped a hand over her wounds, while the other gently tilted her head to look at him instead of the awful gashes. 

"Stay with me, lethallan." He urged. He could see her eyes growing distant and he felt his mouth run dry. " _Please_." He implored. "I-I'll take you to the Keeper, just... just hold on, please!" Immediately, he scooped her up into his arms. She groaned in pain, but there was no time to fuss over being gentle. Some foul affliction had taken hold of her, and with every moment that passed, she was growing weaker. Mahariel was dying.

Without even a glance towards the corrupted mirror in the next room, Tamlen made a sprint for the exit.


	2. A Foul Affliction

It took Fenarel's brain a moment to process the sight in front of him. Tamlen was in a state, and the cause of that was clear - Mahariel was limp in his arms, with deep, blackened wounds in her side. At first, Fenarel had thought she was dead, until he noticed her struggling for shallow breaths. Her skin was pale, and for the first time in all the years Fenarel had known her, she seemed frail. 

"Mercy of the gods! What happened?" He questioned. Tamlen stammered uselessly for a moment, shaking his head. 

"...th-the Keeper. Get the Keeper quickly please she's _dying_!" His voice cracked, and Fenarel saw Tamlen's grip on Mahariel tighten. Her condition was dire, there was no doubting that. He could find out what happened later. Mahariel needed to be saved first. 

Fenarel spun on heel and sprinted past the treeline into the clearing the clan was camped in. He yelled for Marethari, holding back a degree of panic in his tone. Mahariel may have been Tamlen's... whatever they were... but she was also his friend. He didn't want to see her die. 

Tamlen couldn't have been too far behind him. A moment after the rest of the clan turned to see what the commotion was, Fenarel saw their eyes widen in horror. He heard many gasps and cries to the Creators as they all witnessed the state Mahariel was in. 

Marethari was, fortunately, quick to react to Fenarel's calls. Merrill was not far behind her, as was typical of her. Fenarel kept out of the way as the Keeper ushered Tamlen swiftly to her tent. Ashalle hurried to follow. She was not Mahariel's mother, but she may as well have been, what with how scared she now seemed. 

It was Ashalle who guided Tamlen out of the tent moments later. He was now lacking his dear friend, and his panic had faded into an empty-eyed stare of despair. Fenarel was hesitant to bother him, but he didn't want to leave that job on poor Ashalle while she worried. That wouldn't have been fair on her in the least. So, he made his way to Tamlen's side, guiding him to a nearby log to sit. He didn't put up much of a fight. 

"...my fault. This is my fault..." Tamlen muttered. Fenarel glanced at Ashalle to see if she had any idea what he meant, and she merely shook her head. Her expression was distant, however. Fenarel could only imagine how terrified she was to lose Mahariel. They were all terrified. 

"How is it your fault, Tamlen? What happened?" 

"I... w-we should've turned back when the corpses were walking... if she dies... no, she can't die... not her..." 

Fenarel wasn't sure what to say. He glanced towards the tent, then back at his friend. Walking corpses? Sounded like some sort of haunting. It wasn't uncommon in these forests but it certainly wasn't something they should've run into during a short hunt. Regardless, corpses didn't cause wounds like the ones Mahariel bore. 

"...you should return to your watch, Fenarel." Ashalle tapped his shoulder lightly as she spoke. "Tamlen and I will stay here." 

He wanted to object, but couldn't find the words to do so. Instead, he nodded dumbly. "Let me know what happens, please." 

"Of course." 

Though he would have much preferred to remain, Fenarel reluctantly walked away.

* * *

Tamlen felt numb. His blood felt frozen in his veins. His mind kept replaying that single moment where Mahariel had shoved him away. He had seen the beast throw her aside like a doll. It had cut through her armor as if it were nothing. He had no idea what that creature was, nor how its claws could have possibly brought Mahariel down like this, but it didn't matter what he knew. Mahariel was suffering for it regardless of the hows and whys. 

Ashalle was sitting beside him, he knew that much. She rubbed his back gently, no doubt trying to focus on comforting him so she didn't have to focus on her own fear. Tamlen appreciated the effort, at least, but it didn't change that Mahariel was dying. 

_Creators, not her, please. Don't take her from me. Don't take her from us._

So he prayed silently. He prayed to Mythal to protect her. He pleaded that Falon'din not take her just yet. He begged Dirthamen to grant the Keeper the knowledge she needed to save her. He offered them any price they wanted. They could take it - he didn't care. He just wanted Mahariel to live. 

Tamlen didn't even bother to glance up when he heard approaching footsteps. He didn't want to think right now. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He _knew_ they wanted to know what happened and he didn't want to think about that. 

"Has he said much?" 

He recognized Hahren Paivel's voice in an instant. It had to be, of all people, the man who was the quickest to lecture him for his mistakes. Oh, sure, Paivel was old and wise - but he was equally old and grouchy. 

"No. Nothing coherent, at least." Ashalle replied, softly. "He did say something about walking corpses..." 

"Walking corpses?" Paivel echoed. "Da'len, where _were_ you?" 

Tamlen cringed. He had no doubt he was going to be asked an unbearable amount of questions in regards to what had happened. Multiple times, to be sure. People would want to hear from him, not from the rumors they heard from another hunter. 

"A cave." Tamlen croaked, finally. "It was one we hadn't seen before and it had ruins in it so we thought..." 

"Thought what? That it was wise to wander in there unprepared? You two should have come to tell the Keeper rather than--" 

Tamlen raised his head to look up at the frowning elder. He imagined he must've looked fairly miserable, judging from how Paivel seemed to lose his train of thought all of a sudden. 

"I _know_." 

Paivel watched him for a long moment, before he sighed and his expression softened. "I suppose your youth can be forgiven. Sadly..." he glanced towards the Keeper's tent. "...well. It hardly needs to be said." He fell silent for a moment, before he moved to sit beside Tamlen on the log. "Tell us what happened, da'len. Perhaps it will help the Keeper's efforts."

"Shouldn't I tell the Keeper, then?" 

"By all means. The tent is right there." 

Tamlen glanced towards the tent. Mahariel was sick and dying and Tamlen wasn't sure he could bear to see her in that state. Still, if something he remembered from the ruins could help... he took a stuttering breath before forcing himself to his feet. Tamlen had to will himself to approach the tent, knowing that it meant he would have to describe everything he remembered from the cave. The odd spiders, the corpses, the monster, and Mahariel's collapse... he didn't want to think about it but if it could help, he couldn't not speak up. With that in mind, he pulled away the tent flap and ducked under it. 

Mahariel was lying on the cot where he had left her. The leather armor she had been wearing had been discarded in the corner, allowing the Keeper to better examine her wounds. Her breathing had become erratic, and she seemed to be gasping more than anything. She was trembling and pale, with beads of sweat clinging to her skin. Marethari and Merrill were hovering over her, using the old magic to help sustain the dying hunter. Tamlen couldn't tell if their efforts were actually doing anything to help. 

"Tamlen!" Marethari snapped at him. "Unless you have something that can help, I must ask you to leave." 

"I..." his throat was dry again. He found himself wondering if it wasn't better to let the Keeper work in peace. Yet if something he saw could help... "I don't know. Maybe? I..." he moved to sit as far away as he could, not wanting to hinder their efforts at all. 

"Tell us, then." Merrill urged, though she didn't turn away from her patient. "If you know _anything_ , Tamlen, please..." 

He swallowed hard. It was difficult to speak, but he forced himself to try. Tamlen told them about the ruins and the artifacts inside. He mentioned how wrong being there felt, and about the corpses that rose to fight them. He then talked about the monster that struck Mahariel down, describing its horror as best he could. He could see it all too vividly in his mind. He could almost smell the scent of carnage that the monster had produced. Or, maybe that was just the smell of the blood on Mahariel's armor off in the corner of the tent.

“...w-we managed to kill it, I think… but then she just…” he shook his head, as if it would banish the memory. “She just… started to collapse… the wound turned black and she…” He gestured towards the fallen hunter helplessly. 

"Then it was likely this creature that sickened her?"

"I... i-it's likely, yes..." He stammered back. His eyes drifted to Mahariel again. He wasn't sure how the Keeper could possibly save her now, but he prayed that she succeeded. 

"Is there anything else, da'len?" 

"...no, I don't think so." 

"Then I think it's best you go." 

"...ma nuvenin, Keeper." 

It was only with a great deal of reluctance that Tamlen obeyed, and departed the tent. 


	3. Trespass

"You should eat something, Tamlen." 

"I'm not hungry." He insisted, turning away Maren's offer. "Please, just... let me be." He saw the concern on the halla keeper's face as she considered him. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. All morning, members of the clan had stopped by to check for news on Mahariel's condition - and, apparently, to pester Tamlen into eating. His appetite was non-existant, however. He couldn't stomach food even if he had wanted to. 

Mahariel hadn't improved, but she was still breathing. She was barely clinging to life, sustained only by the Keeper's magic and her own will to live. Even Marethari was unsure if Mahariel would ever pull through. They would give her every chance they could offer, however. It was wrong to abandon her when she needed them the most. 

"Have either of you slept at all?" Maren's question was directed at Ashalle this time. 

"No, I'm afraid." Came the exhausted reply. "With Mahariel so sick, it's hard to even consider resting." 

"Mm, I understand..."

Tamlen stood, then, and moved away from the pair. He didn't want to listen to them talking about Mahariel. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted everything to stop for a moment. He couldn't stand feeling so utterly helpless. Someone dear to him was dying and there was nothing he could do to save her. All he could do was sit around and pray and _wait_. It was driving him mad.

"Will he be okay?" He heard Maren ask behind him. 

"I don't know. It's probably best to keep an eye on him, lest he do something foolish." 

Tamlen scoffed at that. He wasn't sure how Ashalle was managing to remain so calm while Mahariel was sick and suffering and _dying_. Still, he kept his mouth shut, and leaned against a nearby aravel as he tried to ignore the women's conversation. 

"Hahren Paivel!" A cry from one of the hunters silenced all talk. Curious, Tamlen peered around the aravel to have a look. From where he was, he could see a dark-skinned shemlen standing on the edge of the camp. Every hunter in the vicinity had drawn their bows, aiming to kill if the stranger made a wrong move. Quickly, Tamlen spun on heel and retrieved his own bow and quiver from the log where he had been sitting overnight. 

Hahren Paivel had already made his way over by the time Tamlen had moved to a spot where he could properly aim at the trespasser. The shemlen had Dalish weapons in his hands - a sword, two daggers, and a bow. Where he could have possibly gotten those, Tamlen wasn't sure, but it didn't bode well. He watched and waited, fighting off the cold exhaustion in his limbs as he held the arrow steady. 

Paivel gestured for the hunters to stand down. Tamlen stared, stunned. There was a human in their camp and they were supposed to put their weapons away? After a moment's hesitation, he grit his teeth and lowered his bow. The human spoke again, holding up the ironbark sword in his hand. 

"Tamlen!" Paivel called. At once, all the hunters glanced in his direction. "Come here, da'len." 

Why would he be needed to talk to some shemlen trespasser? Tamlen made a face as he approached, bow still in hand. He wasn't sure why they were tolerating this human's presence but managed to keep his mouth shut. 

"I assume this blade is yours, then?" The shemlen asked, offering Tamlen the sword as he approached. The hunter stared for a long moment, surprised. It did look like his sword. He glanced at the sheath at his hip, only now noticing that the blade was not present. 

_Did I leave it in the cave? I must have..._ Which begged the question of what this shem was doing in the cave in the first place. 

"Tamlen." Paivel spoke, breaking his chain of thought. "Answer the question, da'len." 

"I-- I guess so." He replied, dumbly, as he reached out to take the sword.

"Then it was you who defeated the beast in the cave?" The human seemed to regard him, allowing him to take the blade. "That is no small accomplishment." 

"I don't need you to tell me that, shem." Tamlen spat, glaring up at the human. He seemed surprisingly unconcerned with the elf's lack of manners. 

"Tamlen," Paivel scolded, "be polite. This man is a Grey Warden, and our guest." The storyteller turned back to the shemlen. "Forgive him, he's hardly been himself since the troubles with that cave." 

"Consider it forgotten."

Tamlen seethed quietly as he sheathed his sword, then took Mahariel's daggers and bow from the Warden. This shemlen had no business knowing anything about what had happened in the cave. Yet it seemed Paivel had seen it fit to tell him _. Yes, one of the clan's most promising hunters has been considerably weakened and everyone is distracted with worry please don't bring an angry mob after us durring this difficult time._ It was a wonder the young hunter managed to keep his mouth shut. 

"Warden Duncan," Paivel spoke up again, seeming to disregard Tamlen's presence for the moment. "You did not happen to see anything in the cave that could shed light on our wounded hunter's sickness, did you?" 

Tamlen saw the Grey Warden sigh, and his shoulders slouch slightly. "The creature your hunters fought was a bear tainted by the Blight. I can offer no more insight than that, I'm afraid." Tamlen couldn't help but feel like this Duncan was holding back something, but he had no clue what that something might be. 

"The Blight? Truly?" Paivel questioned, surprised. 

"I'm afraid so, Elder. It's what drew my attention to that cave in the first place." 

"I see..." The storyteller's shoulders slumped. "Well, I thank you for telling me this. And for returning our hunters' lost weapons. We do appreciate it." 

"It was no trouble." Came the human's response. "Now, I will not wear on your hospitality any longer. Please, tell your Keeper that it is vital I speak to her as soon as possible. I'll set up camp in the clearing not far to the south of here and wait there." 

"Of course, Grey Warden. It's been an honor." Paivel inclined his head politely. Tamlen refused to offer any such respect to a shemlen, Grey Warden or no. He watched as the man turned and walked away, disappearing into the trees. 

"You don't trust him, do you?" Tamlen questioned once he was certain the human couldn't hear. Paivel sighed heavily. 

"The Grey Wardens are an old an honorable order. Surely you know this?" 

"Grey Warden or not, he's still a shem."

"And one who does not mean us harm, at that." The storyteller shook his head. "I must inform the Keeper of this. Stay out of trouble, da'len." 

Tamlen scoffed as Paivel walked away. Did no one trust him? Ashalle seemed to think he was going to do something stupid, as well. He glanced down at the bow tucked under his arm, and the daggers in his hand. In his rush to find help for Mahariel, he had left them behind. He grimaced as he remembered how quickly she had deteriorated. She had been so faint, he thought she was going to die in his arms long before he reached the camp. It was no wonder he had forgotten to retrieve their weapons. Even now, Mahariel was so near to death... doing something stupid didn't sound like such a bad idea after all. 

_No, if something happens, you need to be here._ He decided. With that in mind, he turned back towards the camp to place Mahariel's weapons with the rest of her belongings. 


	4. Recovery

Tamlen poked at the stew Ashalle had brought him, a frown on his face. Try as he might, he just couldn't work up the appetite to actually eat. He knew he needed to, but his mind kept wandering back to Mahariel. He was losing her, slowly, but surely. There had been no sign of improvement whatsoever. As the hours passed, Mahariel seemed to slip further and further away. He wondered if she was in pain, unconscious as she was. He hoped not. She didn't deserve to suffer. 

They hadn't heard from the human that had turned up yesterday. He seemed to be intent on keeping out of the way until the Keeper was ready to speak to him, but it was uncertain how long he would be left waiting. Until Mahariel finally slipped into the Beyond, no doubt.

To make matters worse, the shems he and Mahariel had scared off in the forest had rallied their village. They seemed intent on driving off or slaughtering the clan, if they could. It was frustrating to have to leave over the hurt feelings of a handful of humans, but the Keeper would never allow them to fight back if it were avoidable. _I knew we should've killed them. The Keeper would never have known._ He thought, more glum than bitter. Had Mahariel been well, he probably would've been frustrated with her over it. Instead, he found himself barely able to care. The Keeper would let the shems run them off, as she always did. He just hoped that happened after they knew what Mahariel's fate would be. Either way, the hunters were preparing to pack up and move. 

Tamlen was starting to lose hope that Mahariel would recover. She had been unconscious for two days now. If the Keeper's magic could not sustain her, it was only a matter of time before she found her way into the Beyond. That thought was a grim one. 

"Tamlen, Mahariel wouldn't want you starving on her account." Ashalle chided gently. 

"I know." He muttered in response. 

"What would she do if she saw you now, I wonder?" 

"Probably shove my face in the bowl."

Ashalle laughed quietly. It was a bittersweet sound, in light of their loved one's plight. "I think she would, at that." 

"She won't make it." Tamlen muttered. 

"Don't talk like that." 

"Think about it, Ashalle." He implored. "You've seen the state she's in. It's been days now." 

"Two days." 

"Yes, two days." He shook his head. "Two days in which she's been barely alive. How is she meant to recover from that?" He looked to Ashalle, and he could see her thinking that over slowly. She didn't want to admit it, but he was probably right. Mahariel had deteriorated too suddenly and was showing no sign of improving. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he looked away again, staring at his stew. 

"You're giving up too soon." She was trying to be strong. Tamlen could appreciate that, but he had lost his optimism. "Eat your stew, and pray for her. Creators willing, Mahariel will return to us." 

"Creators willing." He echoed sourly. The Creators sure didn't seem to be rushing to help right now, though if the stories were true, they couldn't help even if they tried. "...do you think she's in pain?" He heard Ashalle inhale sharply beside him. No doubt she had been wondering the same thing. 

"I dread to wonder..." She replied, softly. "I do hope not." 

Tamlen poked at his stew some more, and reluctantly took a bite. He sat in silence as he wondered whether Mahariel was suffering, or whether she was even aware at all. Could she hear the people who came to check on her? Or was she blissfully unaware of how near she was to death? He could only wonder. 

He glanced down to the grey furred wolf that had wandered over. She had followed the clan since she had been a pup, though they had never tried to keep her around. It was wrong to tether a wild creature to their camp, after all. Sometimes she would wander off, but she always found them again. After a moment's consideration, Tamlen set his bowl down by her, offering what was left of his breakfast. He couldn't stomach much more food, anyway. 

The wolf had finished her meal and left by the time the Keeper emerged from her tent. The lines on her face seemed exaggerated with exhaustion, and her shoulders had slumped a degree. Tamlen was at his feet in an instant, struggling to find the words for a question he so desperately wanted to ask. 

"Is... is she...?" 

"She will live." Marethari replied, gently. "It was not an easy sickness to fight, but my magic will sustain her as she recovers." 

Tamlen stared for a moment as he processed those words. He heard Ashalle let out a sigh of relief behind him. Mahariel wasn't dying. He had been wrong. It was quite possibly the best news he had heard in his entire life. She would recover. He had given up hope but he was _wrong_. So, utterly, blissfully wrong. He laughed shakily, glancing towards the tent. 

"Can we see her? Is she awake?" He asked, quickly. 

"She's not returned to us yet, no. Let her rest." The old Keeper urged. "She needs time to recover, now. Disturbing her isn't going to help." 

"I... I understand." Tamlen sighed. "Thank you." 

"You do not need to thank me, da'len." Marethari smiled tiredly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must speak with this Grey Warden Hahren Paivel mentioned." She strode away without offering him a chance to respond, leaving Tamlen where he stood. 

Mahariel would live. Tamlen kept repeating that in his head again and again. A weight had lifted off his chest. He wasn't going to lose his friend because of his stupid attempt at redeeming himself. The Creators truly had smiled on them today. 

_Thank you._

* * *

Mahariel's return to consciousness was slow. It took her a long moment to shake away the grogginess enough that she could open her eyes and figure out where she was. At first, the tent's interior hadn't seemed so strange. She had spent her life sleeping in tents and aravels and under the stars. Then, her memories slowly began to come back to her. She remembered the cave, and the corpses, and that monster. She remembered the searing pain as its claws gored her side. She remembered the darkness closing in, and the distant sound of Tamlen's voice...

Tamlen. Tamlen had been with her. A sense of dread filled her as she glanced about the tent and realized he wasn't there. She told herself not to panic. Where one of them had failed, the other had always prevailed. Surely, he was just... not here.

Hesitantly, Mahariel reached down to pull her shirt up to inspect her own wounds. The gashes had been healed, but they left deep, dark scars that marred her pale skin. Mahariel sucked in a breath as she brushed her fingers over them. 

There was something else she couldn't put a finger on. Some odd sense of... wrong. Like some dark thing had wormed its way into her heart. She wasn't sure what it was, but she could sense it within her. It chilled her to the core, and so she shoved it aside. Perhaps if she pretended not to notice, it would go away.

She needed to find out what had happened. Mahariel couldn't remember the fight with the bear well at all, and she needed to know where she was. Was this the clan's camp, or somewhere else? With some difficulty, the young hunter forced herself up from the cot. Her muscles were stiff from lying still for so long. How long _had_ it been? She could only guess. Instead of wasting her time trying, she stumbled out of the tent. 

The sunlight was practically blinding. Mahariel winced, reaching up to rub her eyes. She heard people singing nearby, but the lingering grogginess made it difficult to tell if they were speaking Elvish or the King's Tongue. 

"You're awake!" It was Fenarel's voice that broke her from her thoughts. She was back at camp, then. That was a relief. "You've the gods' own luck, lethallan." 

She gave a tired smile as she let her hand fall, watching the hunter through bleary eyes. 

"You're back at camp," Fenarel told her, no doubt realizing how disorientated she was. "Everyone is worried sick about you. How do you feel?" 

"I'm fine, Fenarel." Mahariel replied, a little too quickly. "A little groggy, but... fine. Was it that bad?"

"We thought you would die!" He exclaimed, and she could hear relief in his tone. "Even Tamlen started to think there wasn't much hope. You were delirious with fever, and your wounds were awful."

"He's alright, then?" 

"He's been beside himself worry, but he's unhurt, if that's what you mean." Fenarel replied with a shrug. "He's spent the last two days sitting out here waiting to hear if you would pull through." 

Mahariel smiled faintly. It was a relief to know Tamlen hadn't been injured by that creature in the cave, truly. She could go speak with him about what had happened later, once he had an opportunity to rest. It wasn't as if they would be going anywhere, after all.

"Is the Keeper around?" She asked. Fenarel shook his head. 

"No, she headed off to go and speak with some Grey Warden who turned up while you were unconscious." He replied. 

"A Grey Warden?" 

"That's what he claimed. I don't really know what's going on with that." He admit with a shrug. "You could ask Hahren Paivel. He might even tell you."

Mahariel nodded with a glance towards the camp's main fire where the storyteller sat. A Grey Warden’s presence was often a bad omen. Sure, they were honorable, usually, but they were more often than not the bearers of bad news and the bringers of bad things. She couldn’t help but worry about what this Warden’s arrival meant for the clan.

"I might just do that. Thanks, Fenarel."


	5. Corrupted

The sensation of fingers brushing against his forehead stirred Tamlen from his light sleep. He had already been struggling to stay asleep - it was little surprise that was all it took to disturb him. He grumbled a few choice curses under his breath as he cracked open a bleary eye to investigate the source of the disruption. 

"Mahariel?" He breathed, as a grin broke out across his face. She had been so near to dying, it was an utter relief to see her awake and coherent. Her eyes were clear, and she didn't seem to be in any pain. It was a vast difference to when he had last seen her, fighting for her life in the Keeper's tent. She still seemed a little pale, he noted, but she was alive and breathing. Tamlen sat up slowly, blinking away exhaustion. 

"Sorry to wake you." Mahariel apologized, giving him a smile. 

"No, I'm glad. I've been worried sick about you, lethallan." He admit, reaching up to brush a few stray strands of hair from her eyes. "How are you feeling?" 

"I'm fine." She replied. "Merrill says I'm still sick, but I'm fine." 

Tamlen could not have wiped the smile off his face if he tried. Mahariel was alive. She wasn't going to die over his stupidity. Investigating the cave had been his idea, if she had died... well, he didn't have to worry about that now. 

"What about your wounds?" He asked. They mustn't have been bothering her too badly; She didn't seem to be favoring her side. 

"The Keeper healed them while I was unconscious." Mahariel replied. "How bad were they?" 

Tamlen gave a nervous laugh, shaking his head. "Awful, lethallan. Just... awful. I thought..." he trailed off, averting his eyes. "It doesn't matter. You're fine now, right?" He smiled, though his eyes watched for any signs of weakness. He wouldn't let her get sick again. Not after he had nearly lost her already. 

"Perfectly fine." She replied with a laugh. "Stop fussing. Give it a few days and it'll be like this never happened." 

Tamlen certainly hoped that was all it would take. 

"Mahariel!" The sound of Marethari's voice cut off any further conversation they might have had. Tamlen sighed, shaking his head at his friend's apologetic smile. If the Keeper wanted to check on Mahariel and make sure she wasn't getting sick again, he wasn't going to argue. He always could talk more with her later. It wasn't as if she'd be going anywhere. 

Tamlen watched as Mahariel reluctantly climbed back out of the aravel to find the Keeper. She would be alright, now. It was a relief, for certain. They could put this whole mess behind them and leave the accursed cave behind. He leaned against the side of the aravel, closing his tired eyes for a moment while he waited for his friend to return. 

"I refuse to listen to this!" Mahariel's shout caught his attention, and Tamlen raised his head. "No, I will not go!" 

Go? Go where? Tamlen scrambled to vacate the aravel. Why would Mahariel be sent away? Was her illness contagious? Or was she being blamed for the trouble with the cave? He was at fault for that, not her! They couldn't send Mahariel away while she was sick. It was a death sentence, surely! 

As his feet landed on solid ground, he spotted Mahariel standing before Marethari and the so-called Grey Warden. The hunter was furious, her hands clenched into fists as she glared up at the human. He seemed exasperated, if anything, while Marethari seemed exhausted. Most of the clan had heard Mahariel's words, and everyone's attention had turned to the confrontation. Tamlen made his way over, only to be stopped in his tracks when Master Ilen intercepted him. The craftsman had a strong grip on Tamlen's arm, preventing him from physically interfering. 

"Very well," the Grey Warden sighed. "You leave me no choice. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription." 

"And I witness and acknowledge your invocation, Duncan of the Grey Wardens." Marethari replied. Mahariel shouted in frustration, pacing in a circle as she seethed visibly. 

"Mahariel is sick!" Tamlen shouted, trying to tug his arm free from Ilen's grip. He heard the elder sigh as he let go, but gave him no acknowledgement as he stormed over to Mahariel's side. "You can't send her away! What if she gets worse again?" 

"Mahariel is sick, yes," Marethari acknowledged. "With an illness I cannot cure. The Grey Wardens can, however. Do not doubt that it pains me to send one of the clan's daughters away like this, but there is little choice. If she remains here, Tamlen, she will die. Even my magic cannot prevent that." 

Tamlen refused to believe it. The Keeper had already said Mahariel would recover - what had changed since then? What lies had the shemlen told her to convince her to force Mahariel from the clan? He kept near to his friend's side, fully prepared to throw himself at the human if that was what it would take to stop him from taking Mahariel away. 

"You cannot make me serve against my will." Mahariel growled at the Warden. 

"I will drag you kicking and screaming to Ostagar if I must!" Duncan snapped back. 

"I would enjoy seeing you try, shemlen." 

"Would you rather die here, and sicken your own people?" 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tamlen saw Mahariel's fury faulter. Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. Surely she didn't believe the human! He watched her, his concern written on his face. No, she couldn’t give in. Not now. The Keeper’s magic would surely work, they didn’t need this Grey Warden’s help. Tamlen wasn’t even sure he _was_ a Grey Warden. What if it was all just some convenient lie to make them give up their hunter?

"Lethallan?" 

"I need to pack my things." She stated quietly, though Tamlen had a feeling that it wasn’t directed at him. Without another word, she turned and walked away. 

Tamlen stared after her. He could feel his heart sinking in his chest. Mahariel was leaving the clan. She was being driven away by their own Keeper over a sickness she was surely recovering from. He turned to glare at Marethari, appalled at this turn of events. 

"How can you just send her away?!" 

"I have no choice, Tamlen!" The Keeper snapped back. "Even if she were not in need of a cure, the Blight is building in the south. It is our duty to aid the Grey Wardens against such a foe." 

"So you would abandon her to a shemlen and pray he keeps his word?" 

"The Grey Wardens are--" 

"And old an honorable order. I get it." Tamlen spat, turning his back on Marethari. What did he care if Darkspawn were slaughtering humans in the south? The clan could move north and avoid the Blight entirely. He strode off after Mahariel, intending to talk her out of this madness. If Marethari and the clan would not send the Warden away, they could escape into the forest and be done with this clan. The shemlen could not follow them. They knew these forests - he did not. 

He found Mahariel collecting items from an old and rusted chest. The chest had been around for years, but he had never seen anyone open it before. In her hand was a necklace made up of countless wooden beads, carved into the shapes of animals both prey and predator. Mahariel ran her hands over the carvings, taking a deep breath. 

"Lethallan?" 

She jumped, then glanced over her shoulder at him. "...these were my mother's." She explained, gesturing towards the items in the chest. "I thought, if I'm leaving... there's no sense in leaving them here." 

"You don't have to leave." 

"But I do." She gave him a sad smile. Tamlen grit his teeth, but took a deep breath before he spoke. He didn't want to take out his anger on her. 

"You _don't_. That shem's probably lying. He knew you were sick and now he's filled the Keeper's head with lies!" He insisted. 

"No, Tamlen. The human's right." Mahariel replied as she straightened. She tucked the necklace away carefully into her bag before turning to face him. 

"But the keeper said you would recover! There's no reason for you to leave. Let the Darkspawn kill the shems, what does it matter to us?" 

"I have the _Blight_ , Tamlen!" Mahariel snapped, turning on him. Tamlen froze, staring at her. He could see fear and pain in his dear friend's eyes, and he could hear distress - genuine _distress_ \- in her voice. "I'm not just sick. I'm not just _dying_. I can feel it under my skin, in my blood, in my _head_!" She hung her head and pressed the palms of her hands to her forehead. "I feel... wrong. There's a corruption in me and no amount of old magic will stop it." 

Tamlen stared at her for a long moment. If Mahariel was truly sickened with the Darkspawn's taint, it meant a slow and painful death for her. To see Mahariel waste away and die of such a dark disease because of his stupidity was not something he would ever have wished on her. Yet here she was, with trembling shoulders and terror in her eyes. She was normally the epitome of Dalish - stubborn, proud, and fearless. This was none of those things. 

"Are-- are you sure?" 

"I'm certain." She replied, letting her hands fall limply to her sides.

"Oh, lethallan..." Tamlen pulled her tightly into his arms. No doubt someone would see them, but he hardly cared. She was leaving anyway, wasn't she? He felt her wrap her arms around his waist as he buried his face into her hair. She smelled of the forest, and of halla. It was a scent he had become familiar with, and, under other circumstances, he would have found it comforting. Now? Not so much. She would leave, because she had to. She would leave because staying meant certain death not only for her but likely for those around her. Tamlen tightened his grip on her, wishing it didn't have to be this way. She was shaking in his arms, no doubt terrified of the fate that awaited her. She was to be taken away from the clan that loved her, against her will, after two days in a coma. She had barely had time to reorientate herself and now this was happening. 

Tamlen couldn't help but feel responsible. He had suggested they go into that cave, after all. They could've told the others first, then investigated. Maybe then this wouldn't be happening. He took a deep breath and tried not to think about such things. It wouldn't change what was happening now. 

"I'm sorry, lethallan. I'm so sorry." 


	6. As the Sapling Bends

Mahariel's steps felt heavy as she walked past the clanmates who had gathered to see her off. The Grey Warden was waiting for her as she said her goodbyes to a teary-eyed Ashalle. Her own eyes were watering, but she refused to let herself cry. She had to be strong. For them, if not for herself. Duncan was right, after all. She was dying of an illness that could easily wipe out the entire clan if she remained. 

The Keeper's ring was clutched tightly in her hand as she walked forwards. Between that and her mother's necklace, Mahariel had more than she needed to remember where she had come from. She was Dalish, and she would wear that proudly. The Grey Wardens may not have cared about race, but Mahariel wasn't going to stop being Dalish just because they suggested it. She would do the last of the Elvhen proud, if it was the last thing she did. 

Merrill had taken the news harshly, Mahariel noticed. It wasn't a surprise, that. Merrill had few friends among the hunters. For one of those friends to be leaving so suddenly... it was disrupting the routine she had kept. 

"It'll be okay." Mahariel assured her gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. Merrill managed a small nod, but the hunter could see her eyes watering. "Stay strong." 

She turned away from Merrill reluctantly. She didn't want to leave anymore than the clan wanted to see her go. She wanted to yell and scream and punch the Warden in the face, but she knew it would do no good. It was better this way. If the Blight took her before the Wardens could cure her, at least she wouldn't sicken her clan. 

Tamlen was the last person she had to say her farewells to. Her heart ached to do it, but she knew she might not ever see him again. If she didn't say goodbye now, she never would. He couldn't quite make eye contact with her, she noticed. He blamed himself for this. It was truly painful to see him beating himself up for it.

"Take care of Merrill, will you?" She urged gently. "I won't be here to get her to lighten up anymore." 

"I will." He replied, quietly. "You'll take care out there, right, lethallan?" 

"As much as I can, at least." She assured him with a half-hearted smile. "Keep the clan safe on the trip north. I'll do my part and try to hold off the Darkspawn as long as I can." 

"Just... make sure you come back to us." 

Mahariel couldn't promise that. The Blight could very well kill her, or she might simply just be unable to find the clan again once everything was said and done. Not to mention that Blights could last for decades longer than the average elf's lifespan. Still, to point that out seemed cruel. "We'll see each other again if I can help it." 

"That's... all I can ask." Tamlen forced a smile. "May the Creators guide you back to us when this is over, lethallan." 

"And may they watch over you, lethallin."

With those words lingering in their ears, Mahariel turned and walked away. She turned her back on the only life she'd ever known, on the clan that loved her. She turned away to go and fight a darkness she never should have encountered. She could feel them staring after her as she walked off into the trees with the Grey Warden.

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked, once they were out of the clan's earshot. Mahariel glanced at him, and found herself surprised to see what seemed like genuine concern on his features. 

"I assume you mean physically." She replied, sourly. "I'm fine. It's nothing that will slow me down." 

"I'm glad to hear it." 

They travelled in silence mostly. Mahariel felt like they were dragging their feet at times. She knew these forests well enough that, had she been alone, she'd have been travelling a lot faster than this. Duncan, however, was not used to constantly evading the tree roots that threatened to trip him up. Quite honestly, she found it funny. She kept that to herself, however. He _was_ saving her life. Probably. She couldn't be _too_ rude. 

She treked along behind the Warden for a couple of hours, watching the forest around them as they wandered. She knew these parts well enough to know they were headed towards a human village northwest of the clan's camp. Probably the same one that was intending to run her clan out of their lands. With that in mind, she cleared her throat. 

"Is something the matter?" Duncan asked, glancing back at her as he walked. 

"You said Ostagar's in the southern Hinterlands, right?" Mahariel asked. "I know a quicker way out of the forest. If you need supplies, nature can provide it just as well as any shemlen village." 

Duncan seemed to consider her for a long moment, before he inclined his head slightly. "If you are certain it will be quicker..." 

"My clan passes through here often. I've hunted through this part of the forest more times than I can remember." Mahariel stated with an almost arrogant tone in her voice. "If I say it's quicker, I mean it." 

"Very well. I will follow your lead for the time being, then."

* * *

The clan moved north once Mahariel had departed. It wasn't the same without her around, yet things continued on as they always had. They were Dalish, after all. Moving on was something they were good at. They had all faced hardship before. There was no sense in dwelling over it. Mahariel had gone to serve a good cause, after all. A dangerous one, sure, but it was best for her.

A comforting thought, to be sure, but it didn't make it feel any easier for Tamlen. Mahariel had always been around, for as long as he could remember. Now, for her to just simply have left with no knowledge of if she could even return... it made him feel empty. He wished he at least had a way to contact her, to know if the shemlen's cure for the Blight had been genuine. They had heard nothing, however, and it was likely there was nothing to be heard. 

Hunting was, at least, somewhat of a distraction. They still needed food, after all, and hunting was something Tamlen was good at. He hung back in the shadow of a tree as he knocked his arrow. His eyes were set on a ram as it slowed to graze on the ferns that covered the forest floor. The stupid creature hadn't realized he was there yet, which was exactly how he wanted it. Carefully, he nocked an arrow and took aim. 

Just as he had been about to loose the arrow, something scattered the rocks behind him, startling the ram and sending it charging for the trees. With a curse, Tamlen quickly adjusted his aim and let the arrow fly. It struck the ram in the hind leg, tripping it up. Tamlen immediately let fly a second arrow, which struck the back of the creature's skull. 

As the ram fell still, Tamlen straightened and turned to the other two behind him. "What happened?" He questioned, annoyed. 

"Pol tripped." Junar explained. "It's no big deal. He's not used to the forest like we are just yet." 

Tamlen grit his teeth as he looked to the flat-ear. Pol at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Still, Tamlen could hardly fault him. He was, at least, _trying_ to return to his Elven roots. That was more than could be said for most city elves. This was the first time he had been out hunting, anyway. That they had caught anything was lucky. 

"Well, at least it's down." Tamlen sighed. "Let's get this ram skinned and back to camp before the wolves smell it." 

Junar accepted that task, carefully showing Pol through the steps. Tamlen largely ignored them, circling the area with bow and arrow in hand. He didn't want wolves or scavengers showing up to snatch away their catch. 

"Your friend seems a bit... grumpy." Pol stated quietly. Tamlen pretended not to hear. 

"Don't take it personally." Junar replied lightly. "He's been beating himself up for what happened to Mahariel." 

"She's the one who was sick, right?" 

"Yeah, that's the one. We all miss her, sure, but he's taken it pretty hard." 

"If you two are quite done." Tamlen snapped, shooting a look back at them. Pol withered on the spot, while Junar simply rolled his eyes. 

"You can't pout about it forever, Tamlen." 

"I'm not _pouting_ \--" 

"Are you sure? Because that's what it looks like from here." 

Tamlen seethed, but refrained from further comment. Pol wisely kept his mouth shut. 

Once Junar had finished with the ram, they packed everything away and set off into the forest. The clan had wandered closer to the forest's edge than they usually would have dared - since they had no intention of staying in any given spot longer than a couple of days, they didn't have to worry too much about upsetting any villages they neared. This closeness to the forest's outskirts did, however, put the hunters at risk of accidental encounters with the local shemlen. A necessary risk, Marethari had said, before she instructed the hunters not to cause trouble. Tamlen recalled he had received a particularly seething glare at that point in her speech.

Pol had been the one to pause when they spotted a village through the trees, however. Tamlen had been quite content to keep going, but the city elf cleared his throat. 

"You know..." he spoke, hesitant. "I could head into the village and see if there's news about Ostagar." 

Tamlen stopped in his tracks, before he spun on heel to face Pol. The thought of asking the shems hadn't even occurred to him. Yet, it was a human army fighting at Ostagar - surely the humans would have heard something. Junar seemed uncertain, however. 

"The Keeper said we were to ignore the shems if we could..." 

"Go, Pol." Tamlen urged. "We'll come if we see trouble." 

"Tamlen," Junar frowned, "do you _really_ want to risk irritating the Keeper more?" 

"What does it matter?" He replied. "She'll never forgive me for half the stuff I've done, anyway. If there's news about Mahariel, I'm willing to take another hit for it." 

Junar sighed, shaking his head. "For the record, I _don't_ approve." 

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to make sure the Keeper knows that if something goes wrong."


	7. Into the Moonlight

The village was about what Pol had expected. What few elves lived here took up residence in the sheds and attics of their employers. It was arguably better than life in the city, he supposed, if one got lucky. He wasn't here to survey the living arrangements of the second-class citizens, however. 

It was eerily quiet, he noticed. The village seemed... empty. Houses were vacant for seemingly no reason and quite a lot of people seemed to be packing their things. Perhaps they had heard of the Blight and simply decided to head further north, but Pol couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom. _You’re just imagining it._ He told himself as he glanced about the street. _...maybe._

He slipped a couple of coins off a merchant's stall when the man wasn't looking and quickly slipped off into the local tavern. It was nearly strangely deserted. Only a couple of people were about, sulking at the bar and already deep in their cups. Since it was barely midday, that was certainly not a good sign. Pol perched himself up atop a barstool and placed his stolen coppers on the countertop. 

"Haven't got much here," the barkeep stated, coldly. His face was lined with age beyond his years, and what little hair he had left atop his head had greyed. From the look in his eyes, Pol could guess that he wasn’t a fan of elves or outsiders - likely both, in which case, Pol was not off to a good start.

"I'll take some information, then." He replied, pushing the coin forward. The barkeep scooped it up in a heartbeat. "What's the news from Ostagar?" 

The patrons flinched visibly. The barkeep's frown deepened. A quiet lingered for a long moment before the man spoke. 

"All dead. Teyrn Loghain barely had time to call a retreat and save what men he could." He explained grimly. "The oh-so- _noble_ Grey Wardens betrayed the king, and now, they're all dead, too. Serves them right, the lot of 'em." 

"All of them?" 

"Presumably. The Teyrn put out a bounty on any found to have survived, but it's unlikely you'd find any. Best not to try."

The Grey Wardens, with all their years of experience fighting Darkspawn, were dead, which meant that the hunter who had left the clan had no doubt fallen with them. Pol's heart sank in his chest. The clan would not take that well, but they did need to know. Honestly, telling Tamlen was more frightening a prospect than telling the others. He shook his head sadly. 

"Maker watch over those we lost." He muttered. 

"Maker watch over us all." The barkeep grumbled in response. "If I were you, I'd be running north sooner rather than later. There's no army left to stop the horde." 

"I'll keep that in mind." Pol took the hint, and quickly vacated the tavern. 

Tamlen and Junar weren't far, at least. He slipped back into the forest when no one was watching and returned to the Dalish hunters. He dreaded having to be the bearer of such bad news, but he knew it was far too cruel to let them wonder. 

"Well?" Tamlen asked as soon as Pol was in his view. He seemed hopeful, with only made the situation harder for the city elf.

"I hope this was worth it." Junar grumbled from where he had sat atop the thick root of a tree. 

"Well..." Pol hesitated. "There _was_ news, but..." 

"But what?" Tamlen asked impatiently, frowning down at Pol. The hunter was tall for an elf, and left poor Pol feeling smaller than he already was. 

"But... it's not good news, I'm sorry. The Wardens were defeated. They're saying none survived." 

Pol saw Tamlen slowly process that statement. He saw the hunter's face go from fear to understanding to pain to anger. Abruptly, he spun and punched the nearest tree in a fury. Pol heard an awful _crunch_ and a curse as Tamlen slumped against the tree, clutching his hand gingerly. He was shaking, though whether it was more anger or grief that affected him, Pol couldn’t say. 

"Come on." Junar spoke, softly. Pol could see grief in his expression, too, though he was far more restrained than Tamlen was. "We can mourn with the others."

* * *

Tamlen barely acknowledged Marethari as her magic healed his broken hand. He had barely acknowledged anyone since he had returned to camp. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to acknowledge even the possibility of Mahariel having fallen. He wanted to sit and deny it and pretend none of it was happening, but it was impossible to ignore the blatant lack of her presence. 

Mourning was a quick process for the Dalish. Or, he should have said, it wasn't really a process at all. They would plant a tree, sing a song, and then move on. That was how it had been for generations. That was how it _had_ to be. If they stopped, the shems would no doubt take advantage of their weakness. Yet he couldn’t find it in him to care what the shems did. He just wanted Mahariel back. He wanted to go back and never find that cave - or that blighted bear. Mahariel would have been alright, then. 

"There." Marethari sighed as she let go of Tamlen's hand. He balled it up into a fist, but said nothing in thanks. "We'll have a service for Mahariel in the morning." 

"Don't bury her yet." He growled. "She could still be out there." 

"We will sing for her, anyway." 

Tamlen didn't respond to that. He didn’t want to talk. Words required thinking. Thinking meant acknowledging the reality around him. Marethari apparently understood that he would say no more, and left his side. He could hear some of the elders talking quietly nearby, and though he tried to ignore them, their words reached his ears all the same. 

"Keep an eye on Tamlen." He heard Paivel mutter. "He's prone enough to trouble without this to weigh on his mind." 

Leave it to the old storyteller to always assume he was going to do something stupid. Though, doing something stupid didn’t sound like such a bad idea right now… at least it wouldn’t require much thought. 

When night fell, Tamlen was the first to retreat into the aravel. No one stopped him. Even Merrill let him be. They all knew he and Mahariel had been close. He had thought they would have years to spend together, he thought they would always have more time… now, she was quite possibly dead.

It _was_ just a possibility, after all. Tamlen couldn't bring himself to believe that she was actually gone. She couldn't be dead. Not her. Not Mahariel. _Creators, no, please, not her._ He begged silently, staring up at the stars peeking through the sails above his head. His vision blurred as his eyes began to water. Mahariel couldn't be _gone_. She couldn't be _dead_. It just wasn't possible, surely. Tamlen's composure broke, then. He wept quietly, and alone. 

* * *

"Tamlen!" The shout scattered the birds in the trees above. The hunters weren't out for game this morning, but they prayed to Andruil all the same. Despite their efforts to keep track of his location, Tamlen had managed to slip off into the forest during the night. He had left most of his belongings, save for his armor and weapons. Wherever he had gone, it was likely he had no intention of returning. 

"Tamlen!" Fenarel shouted again, louder this time. He was losing hope quickly. They had followed Tamlen's trail to a river - and that was where they lost it. Now, they searched the riverbanks, hoping to find some sign of him climbing up the opposite side. 

"Do you see anything?" Ineria called as she hurried to Fenarel's side. "Did he cross or did he drown?" 

"A river like this couldn't drown Tamlen, are you insane?" He stared at the huntress. The river was slow, and waist-deep at most. Yet, there was no sign of their missing friend. "Maybe he got some water, then went back on his own tracks, to throw off bandits or something..." 

"Or maybe he's trying to throw _us_ off." Ineria countered. "If he's gone to find Mahariel’s body or take revenge on the Darkspawn, he knows we'd try to stop him." 

"Why, though?" Fenarel was starting to get frustrated. "Why would he run off like this? Mahariel wouldn’t have wanted this. Is he trying to throw his life away just to have something to bury?" He shook his head and peered downstream. "We have to find him before he does something even more foolish."

"Knowing Tamlen, it's probably already too late." 

"How can you say that so casually?" 

"Look at it reasonably, Fenarel." Ineria sighed. "He's the idiot who decided wandering into a cave full of walking corpses was a good idea. He disappeared in the middle of the night - that's left him a lot of time to do something reckless. And honestly? I say let him go. It's his fault this has happened in the first place. If he wants to suffer for it, fine. Let him." 

"He's my friend, Ineria." Fenarel growled. "I'm not just going to abandon him." 

"The clan needs to move. We can't keep searching much longer."

Fenarel wasn't willing to give up on him so easily, but as the hours passed with nothing to be found, be began to think Ineria was right. Tamlen was purposely throwing the hunters off his trail. Whatever foolish notion had taken hold, it would likely be the end of him. Two promising young hunters, lost to the Blight. That reality would sour the clan for weeks. 


	8. Stars Above, Sorrows Within

Tamlen slumped against the trunk of a towering tree, closing his eyes as he slowly slid to the ground. The clan had no doubt stopped searching for him by now - the sun's light no longer reached the forest floor, and stars were beginning to light up the sky above. It wasn't likely he would ever be able to find them again until Arlathvhen in a few years. 'North' was an awfully vague place for them to be headed, after all. He didn't mind so much, though. He had to know for sure that Mahariel was dead. If that meant wandering into shemlen villages, so be it. 

It had been a long day of walking, and he hadn't had much of a chance to hunt himself a proper meal. Tamlen barely noticed - he couldn't say he had much of an appetite anyway. He took a deep breath. He had run south, away from the clan. They couldn't afford to backtrack so far to find him, so even if they _had_ caught his trail and pursued, Tamlen doubted they would follow him out here. 

A rustling in the undergrowth caught his attention, and immediately his hand went for his bow. He kept still as a wolf strode calmly out from behind the trees with a rabbit dead in her jaws. It took Tamlen a moment in the dark, but he recognized the clan's guardian well enough. 

"You didn't follow me all the way out here, did you?" He sighed, setting his bow aside again. "That's a terrible question. Obviously, you did." He watched as she stepped nearer, and dropped the rabbit at his feet. Tamlen frowned at that. He hadn't really been hungry, but food didn't really sound like an awful idea... 

Begrudgingly, Tamlen pushed himself up off the ground. He would need to get a fire started if he wanted to even consider eating something that had been in the wolf's mouth. Finding wood for a fire was a task better done by daylight, but the faint moonlight was light enough to get the job done. 

It took him longer than he would admit to get an adequate fire started. Mahariel would've had it done faster, he mused sullenly. Or, she would've just laughed at him for taking so long. The thought made his chest ache. He wished they had never found the cave. Mahariel could have been safe back with the clan, back with him... 

As he began preparing the rabbit to cook, Tamlen banished such thoughts. Dwelling on it wasn't going to change the situation. Once he knew for sure whether or not Mahariel was dead, he could take the time to worry about what ifs. 

Now, however, he had to be wary. If the darkspawn horde was really charging north like it sounded, he couldn't afford to stumble into it by accident. Or, worse, have it stumble upon him while he slept. The thought made him realize how utterly foolish what he was doing was, but he shoved that thought aside. He needed to know what had happened to her. He couldn't just leave her for dead on a rumor. Once he knew, he could decide what to do. If the Darkspawn had taken her, they owed him a debt of blood - but Mahariel would not have wanted him to throw his life away seeking revenge against a never-ending enemy. At least, that’s what he assumed. Maybe she would want him to put down a few of the bastards in her name. He could certainly try. 

With an eye on the shadows, Tamlen settled back against the tree with his dinner in hand. It was a bland meal, for certain, but it was food none the less. The wolf didn't seem to mind so much - she scarfed down the pieces he offered her like a hound starved. Afterwards, she slinked off into the darkness, leaving him alone once more. 

"Be careful." He called after, though he was _fairly_ sure she couldn't understand him. It was the thought that counted, right? Left alone once more, Tamlen decided to focus on his meal instead of the Blight. Instead of Mahariel. 

Easier said than done, that. 

* * *

Mahariel would never have thought a funeral song would make her homesick, but it had. She found herself humming along to the melody Leliana sang, while she prayed that Falon'din would watch over the hunters Lanaya's clan had lost. The curse had been lifted, at least. Both the Dalish and the humans were saved from the pain it caused. It may have cost Zathrian his life, but his immortality had been a lie, anyway. 

"That was a happier song, once." Mahariel stated as Leliana fell silent. "My ancestors would sing when an elder grew weary of life, to celebrate their accomplishments before they fell into uthenera. They would sleep, often forever, but sometimes they would return with new wisdom from our gods." She glanced at Leliana, then shrugged. "Or so the story goes." 

"It is strange to think of a time when Thedas was home only to elves, let alone elves who were immortal." Leliana remarked. "If you could restore what was lost, would you?" 

"In a heartbeat." The Warden replied. "But Elvhenan is lost. Trying to rebuild it would be impossible without slaying every human in Thedas - and that would make us no better than the humans who have tried to do the same to us." Mahariel could not bear the thought. Her people had lost much to the humans, yes, but outright slaughtering them? No, she could not allow her people to resort to that. "A new homeland, though... that is something we could work with. Some land for us to build, without fear of an Exalted March coming to destroy us again... I would give my life for that." She paused for a long moment. "Though... I imagine I'd find living like this a lot harder if not for the fact that I've never _not_ lived out of a tent." 

Leliana laughed at that. "You must feel right at home, then." 

"All we need are a dozen halla and it will even sound like home." Mahariel grinned. "No, what really makes a camp feel like home are the people. Your friends, your family... they're never far away." 

"Do you have much family?" 

"Oh, I'm probably related to half the clan, though I couldn't tell you which half." She joked. "Immediate family, though? I never knew my parents, but the woman who raised me was as good a mother as I ever could have asked for." 

"You must miss her a great deal." 

"I miss all of them. I miss her, I miss the Keeper, I miss the elders, I miss the other hunters..." Mahariel took a deep breath as she tried to fight off the homesickness. It was a lonely, longing feeling that took root deep in her chest and left her with nothing but sorrow. "But if the Blight is left unchecked, they won't outrun it. My duty has always been to protect my clan. If that means fighting the Blight... I'll fight the Blight. Slay the Archdemon. Then go home, I suppose." 

"You wouldn't continue with your duties as a Warden?" 

Mahariel shook her head. "I never asked to be a Warden. If not for the Blight, I would already be back with my clan."

"I see..." Leliana stared off into the fire for a long moment. "It must be hard on you, to be forced into this as you are." 

"It would be harder to be helpless." 

With those words left, Mahariel turned away. She plopped herself back on her bedroll and stared up at the stars. There were few clouds in the sky, allowing her to see many of the constellations above. She knew she should have at least made an attempt to sleep, but the nightmares that plagued her made her think twice about that. If the archdemon in her dreams was the one they truly had to kill... she just prayed it would be over with sooner rather than later. 

Once the Blight was over, she could go home, to her clan, to Ashalle, to Merrill, to _Tamlen_... she missed them all dearly. It left her heart heavy to wonder how they were all doing on their trip north to avoid the Blight. She kept expecting to hear their voices, to hear Tamlen chastising her for being so dreary, but all she heard was the crackle of the fire. 

_Creators, let this Blight end swiftly._

Perhaps that was too much to ask. The last Blight had lasted over a decade, after all. It was likely she would be fighting this war for years, and that was _after_ she kicked Loghain in the ass for abandoning them at Ostagar. His selfishness had made the entire situation that much worse - and what had he earned for his effort? A country prepared to tear itself apart while the Blight destroyed everything around them. 

There was nothing that could be done for it now, however. Cailan was dead - he was a fool of a king, anyway. The army was lost, as well. The Grey Wardens were all dead, save for her and Alistair... it was set to be a very long Blight, indeed. No matter. They would fight it, with or without the other Wardens. Even if she had to march down to the Deep Roads and kill the archdemon down there, she would do it. 

...okay, maybe she wouldn't do _that_. She had done many stupid things in her short life but she was not _that_ stupid. The bulk of the underground horde would be down there with the archdemon. It would be suicide to even try. 

"We'll go meet Dryden, next." She stated to anyone who cared to listen. "We'll avoid Denerim, though. As much as I'd love to march straight up to Loghain and shove my sword down his throat, I can't imagine we'd get that far." That didn’t mean it wasn’t tempting to try.

"Probably not." Alistair agreed. "Unless you managed to hatch some sneaky plan to get us past all the guards, of course." 

"Maybe our would-be assassin could make himself useful on that one." Mahariel glanced in Zevran's direction. The flat-eared assassin seemed to think about it for a long moment. 

"Given enough time... yes, I think perhaps that may be possible." 

"Alright, then. Feel free to come up with ideas. We probably won't use them, but it'll be fun to see how many ways I could die executing your plans." She grinned.

"Ah, still concerned I'm going to poison your drink?" 

"You tried to kill me this morning." Mahariel was still questioning the wisdom in inviting Zevran to join them. Only time would tell how that decision would turn out; He _did_ owe her his life. Whether that actually meant anything to an Antivan Crow had yet to be seen.

"I am not nearly stupid enough to try that again, dear Warden, don't you worry." 

Alistair seemed less than convinced. "He says that, but I'd not take my eye off him if I were you." 

"Oh, don't you worry," Mahariel replied. "I don't intend to." She didn't trust Zevran in the slightest. He was to be kept away from the food and drink at all costs, for certain. Someone always had an eye on him, whether it was her or one of the others. She was not going to be remembered as the idiot Warden who died because she was dumb enough to let an assassin into the mix. 

"Well," Zevran huffed, "I, for one, am insulted you two would be so distrusting. I thought Wardens took all sorts!" It was clear he was joking, but Mahariel rolled her eyes anyway. 

"I don't know how things work for flat-ears in Antiva, but for the Dalish here in Ferelden, trusting someone who tried to kill you isn't generally in the list of things we do." 

"But you could be swayed, no?" 

"If you prove yourself useful. Otherwise, you wouldn't be breathing right now." 

"I must say, it is always good to know where one stands..." 

Mahariel merely hummed in response to that. If Zevran planned to turn against them, they would be ready. That much was for certain. She was not scared of the Crows. They were just people, after all. People were not so difficult to deal with. People were not a never-ending horde of evil incarnate. She would rather fight people any day. 

"Say the Blight were to end tomorrow," she mused to whoever felt like listening. "What do you think you'd do?" 

Alistair seemed to think about that for a moment. "Go report to the other Wardens, I suppose?" He shrugged. "They would need to be told, of course. What about you? Back to the Dalish, just like that?" 

"Just like that." She confirmed. "Like I just said, I'd be there now if not for the Blight. If the Blight were to end, there would be nothing stopping me from going back." 

"You would still be a Warden. That's not something you can just cast aside. You know that." Alistair reminded. "What will you do when you start getting the dreams again?" 

Mahariel didn't answer that for a long moment. He was right. One couldn't simply retire from being a Warden. They would always feel _wrong_. The corruption was deep within them whether they liked it or not. One day they would suffer their Calling, and perish deep underground, never to be remembered. From the moment the bereskarn had wounded her, falling to the taint became inevitable. The Joining had only delayed it. 

"I suppose I'd wait as long as I could bear, then head to Orzammar. But I would have my time with my clan, first." She stated, stubborn as ever. "But the Blight won't end tomorrow. We might not live to see it end." 

"Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine." 

"That doesn't mean we can't clear the way for someone else to end it." She reminded him. "As long as the Blight ends, as long as we help make that happen, then we've done our job." 

Alistair sighed. "True enough, I suppose... I do hope we can end it before some irreparable damage is done to Ferelden, however." 

"That's what we're aiming for, isn't it?"

"Let's not miss the target, then." 

Mahariel smirked at that. "I'm _Dalish_ , Alistair. I never miss a target." 


	9. The Broken Blade

Tamlen continued southwest for days. He slept little - it was hard to rest while he worried for the fate of his friend. Questions plagued his mind constantly; Was Mahariel truly dead? Had she suffered or was it a quick end? If she had survived, where was she now? Was she okay? He prayed to the Creators for answers, but they offered only silence. It was a good thing he knew better than to rely on them for help. 

He knew he was nearing the outskirts of the forest. The trees were not so dense here. The further he went, however, the more uneasy he began to feel. There was less life here. Occasionally he would hear something in the brush but the birds themselves seemed to have fled. They knew the Blight was coming. Perhaps it had already crept into this section of the forest, and every moment he remained increased his chances of falling ill as Mahariel had. That was a grim thought. 

_Thunk._

Tamlen froze in place, staring at the blackened arrow that seemed to have appeared mere inches from his face. It was a blackened, crude thing. It was no wonder it had missed him. In an instant he had his bow in one hand and a few arrows in the other, with one nocked and ready.

It was not hard to find the creature who had shot at him. It hid in the shadows of a tree, but he could see it. The monster was darkness in the shape of a man, with leathery flesh and blackened eyes. Its lips were drawn back over rotted teeth. Its only protection was crude armor made from rusted scrap, likely stolen off some dead shemlen. Tamlen did not give the creature time for a second attempt. His arrow struck fast and true, digging deep into the monster's skull. 

He had been careless. He had let his mind wander and had nearly paid the price. It would not happen again, he swore that to himself. 

There were more and Tamlen knew it. He could hear them disturbing the underbrush. He cast his eyes around him, and kept a tree at his back. He readied another arrow and held his ground. A movement in the corner of his vision gave up the location of a short creature with sickly yellow skin and beady eyes. The monster gave a squeal as the arrow easily pierced its patchwork armor. A second was quick to follow, piercing its throat in turn. 

Three more of the creatures came out of the trees, now - two short like durgen'len, one tall as a shemlen. The shorter ones had bows, while the taller one wore thick, blackened armor and wielded a crude greatsword. They were horrors to behold in the light, with dead flesh and hungry eyes. Tamlen blanched, and pressed his back against the tree. Were these Darkspawn? They certainly seemed to be horrid enough to qualify. If they were truly the evil monsters from the tales, it was no wonder so many respected the Grey Wardens. To fight an endless war against things so twisted... that was the war Mahariel had been taken for. 

Fear turned to anger as that thought struck him. If these were Darkspawn, they would _pay_ for the suffering they had inflicted on his friend. He let another arrow fly, striking down one of the short creatures first. He made to aim at the second archer, but the tallest of the horrors had charged at him. Tamlen narrowly managed to dart away, ducking behind the tree as the creature made a wide swing with its blade. The momentum carried the strike deep into the tree. 

_That was almost my neck._

He had no time to thank the gods, however. Tamlen knew he needed to strike before the monster could free its blade. He drew his sword and launched himself at the creature, driving the ironbark blade between a small gap in his adversary's blackened armor. The creature let out a snarl as Tamlen tore the blade free again. He gave it no time to recover, and brought the sword around to slice the creature's throat. 

There was still the matter of the final archer. Tamlen turned away from the fallen monster, ready to throw himself into a sprint to prevent any arrows from being aimed his direction. Yet, he soon came to realize that the final beast had disappeared completely. 

Tamlen spun on the spot. The damn thing couldn't have just _vanished_ , it had been right there a second ago! He turned again, eyes scanning every shadow as he tried to find the last of the creatures. Maybe it had fled in terror. Unlikely, from what the tales said of such things. They were unrelenting. Which meant he was in danger so long as that thing was alive. 

_Creators, I beg of you, grant me your--_

A sharp pain shot through Tamlen's leg. He felt a blade dig deep into his thigh and could not help but howl as the limb gave out beneath him. He hit the ground hard, and felt the dagger's crude blade snap. He saw the final creature standing over him, grinning an awful grin of blackened teeth as it stared with eyes that seemed almost dead. Tamlen grit his teeth, and kicked it away with his good leg. The monster stumbled back as its grin turned into a sneer. The young hunter scrambled away, forcing himself to stand despite the agony it caused. He left his sword and instead fixed his grip on his bow as he picked up one of his arrows. The horrible beast hissed at him, but the sound was cut short as Tamlen let the arrow fly. It struck the monster in the eye, and it fell to the ground with its kin. 

Tamlen wanted to slump to the ground there. He could feel the sickeningly warm blood running down his leg, though he refused to look just yet. He was not safe here. If these were Darkspawn, there could be more. With a pained groan, he limped back to retrieve his sword. He could tend to his leg once he was away from here - away from the blackened blood that was pooling on the ground. 

_At least you didn't fall in that._ He thought, grimly. He was fairly sure that was what had happened to Mahariel - he _had_ seen her fall during the fight with the bear, and she had been covered in its blood afterwards... it made sense that she caught the Darkspawn plague from the blighted blood itself. _And now she's probably dead._ He added. The thought made his chest ache almost worse than his leg. 

Tamlen willed himself to limp away. The sooner he was somewhere relatively safe, the better. He could not allow himself to be caught unaware like that again. If that first arrow hadn't missed... he was truly blessed by the Creators to yet live. Or something like that. Maybe it was just dumb luck. 

He had never noticed how many times he had to step over tree roots before. Putting weight on his wounded leg was agonizing, but he kept moving until it finally gave out on him. Tamlen shouted in pain as it crumpled beneath him and he fell to the ground once more. For a moment, he simply lay there, gritting his teeth as he willed the pain away. It didn't work too well, but eventually he was able to force himself to sit up. He finally settled to assess his wound, and immediately came to regret it. 

The blade was stuck deep in his leg, and had broken off just past the point of entry. It had to be removed, there was no questioning that. Tamlen steeled himself. Best to get it over with, he figured. No sense in thinking too hard on it. More and more often thinking was starting to seem like a bad idea, he noticed. 

_Just. Shut up and get the damn thing out._

Tamlen held his breath as he carefully grasped at the broken blade. A mere touch sent fresh waves of pain through his leg and caused his eyes to water, but he knew he had worse to look forward to. He couldn't hesitate. He had to get it over with. Quickly, he pulled the crude blade from the wound. He could not stop himself from crying out in agony as the blade came free. He tossed it aside and clasped his hand over the wound to try and stem the bleeding. He exhaled sharply through his teeth, blinking away the tears that had welled up in his eyes. 

It was enough to make him question the sanity of this venture. He had thought that maybe he could go to Ostagar, find Mahariel's body, then take revenge on as many of the blighted bastards as he could. He had underestimated them, it seemed. The damned short thing had managed to sneak right up on him and _by the gods, that hurts_. If he continued to Ostagar, he would never make it. He needed a new plan. 

Tamlen shrugged off his pack and dug through it with his free hand. He was not out of the woods yet. The wound needed to be treated, stitched up, and bandaged. He found the supplies he had snuck out of the clan's camp, and set about using a cloth to carefully apply the elfroot salve to the wound. It was an agonizing process. Each time he disturbed the wound, it sent further pain through his leg. He wasn't sure what was worse - applying the salve, or trying to stitch the wound closed. It took him far longer than it should have, but Tamlen eventually managed to treat the wound. He gave a sigh of utter relief once he had the bandages tied off, and finally allowed himself to slump onto his back and take a moment to breathe. It still hurt, of course, but he could stop making it worse now. 

Ostagar was out of the question, then. He had no hope of getting there with a wounded leg. Tamlen begrudgingly acknowledged that his best bet was to leave the forest and find a human village, or a refugee caravan, or _something_. If he was lucky, there would be more news about what had happened at Ostagar. Worst case scenario, he would have to keep his head down until the horde moved far enough north that he could slip around them and seek out whatever was left of his friend himself. He wouldn't believe that she was dead until he had her body before him. He couldn't give up on her until there was undeniable proof that she was gone. 

For now, however... he just wanted to rest for a few minutes. 


	10. A Taste too Bittersweet

Mahariel slumped on the steps of Soldier's Peak. Avernus had repaired the damage to the Veil - or so he said. She wasn't entirely sure she could trust him, but she didn't really care at this point. She was too battered, bruised, and burned to be concerned with some shemlen mage. The corrupted spirits that had been here were no easier to fight than Darkspawn.

She didn't want to say they were worse, because that would be admitting there was something worse than Darkspawn. 

"Are you alright?" 

It had been Alistair who spoke. She heard his heavy footsteps and the clatter of his armor as he descended the steps to sit beside her. Mahariel waved him off.

"Fine. Just exhausted." She replied. "I can't say fighting demons and corpses is something I expected to be doing today, that's for sure." She glanced back at the keep above them. "We should rest inside tonight. On the floor if we must. It'll be warmer than the tents." 

"I'm not too sure I like the sound of sleeping with all those corpses..." 

"We can clear them out. It's going to snow tonight, I think." She nodded to the dark clouds above them. "Unless you can find a forest with a thick canopy, I think I'd rather sleep in there than out in the snow." She didn't mention that the caves were an option. She didn't really want to spend a night surrounded by nothing but stone. Nevermind that the keep was made of--

_If you want to be warm tonight, you'll pretend you didn't think of that._

Alistair seemed skeptical as he narrowed his eyes at the sky - as though that would make the clouds move away. 

"You have a point." He conceded. Mahariel glanced as Alistair reluctantly forced himself to his feet. "Shall I go tell the others, then?" 

"Please do. I was going to, but you stood up." 

"Oh. I'll make sure not to do that next time." 

The Dalish Warden smiled faintly as Alistair descended the remaining few steps and headed off towards tunnels to find their companions. Mahariel could hear her mabari running about in the snow somewhere, with that wolf on his tail. She honestly wasn't sure how that wolf had found her. It had been a part of her clan for awhile. That it had suddenly split away to follow her instead was odd.

Not that she was complaining. She needed all the help she could get, though the time she had intended to spend training with Leliana was instead being dedicated to the wolf's training. If it was going to fight the Blight, it needed to know where to be and when. Taming a wild beast was more time consuming than Mahariel liked to admit, but she was certain it would pay off in the end. If not, the others would never let her live it down. 

A snowflake landed on her glove. It lasted only a moment before it melted, with the only sign of its existence left in the dark spot on the leather. Mahariel couldn't help but smirk a little. _See? It's snowing._ She stood and whistled for the hound and the wolf, before retreating off inside.

Even though the Veil had supposedly been fixed, this place still left Mahariel uneasy. It was setheneran, and the feeling was not entirely unfamiliar. There had been plenty of such places in the Brecilian Forest. The clan had always made a point of _not_ sleeping in those places, however. She still prefered it over the caves. 

The entry way would do for the night, she figured. It was cluttered, perhaps, but it was free of corpses and had enough room for everyone. If anyone felt like sleeping away from the group they could clear their own space elsewhere in the keep. She wasn't going to be responsible for that. 

Mahariel slumped against a wall and slowly sank to the floor. This wasn't supposed to be her fate. She was atop some frozen mountain looking into Grey Warden secrets while a Blight raged on. She had never asked for this. She was meant to spend her life providing food for her clan. Instead, she was protecting a kingdom of _stupid shemlen_ who were utterly determined to watch the kingdom burn while they argued over who ruled what. 

Stupid, stupid humans. 

She missed her home dearly. She longed for the sounds of halla, for Hahren Paivel's tales. She would've given anything to be the hapless victim of one of Tamlen's pranks, or to be able to give Ashalle a hug. She wanted to discuss history with Merrill, or carve bows with Master Ilen. She missed the warmth of the fires, and of her clanmates' companionship. 

_Creators, keep them safe._

If she fought this Blight only to lose the people she loved... 

Mahariel quickly composed herself and forced the thoughts aside when the doors opened, letting in a rush of cold air and a flurry of snow. 

"Don't say it, you were right." Alistair grumbled. His arms were full of supplies, while the Mabari darted around his legs in hopes of food. 

Mahariel allowed herself a small smile at that. Without a word she headed out into the forming snowstorm to help carry bedrolls and blankets up into the keep. Her entire body ached, but she refused to sit back and let the others do the heavy lifting. Surely they were sore, too. 

Granted, none of them had been stupid enough to drink strange alchemical potions. That was, admittedly, not her brightest moment. She had always said Tamlen was the one who would shove his hand down a snake hole to see how far it went, but now she found herself wondering how many of their misadventures had been her fault. As she set a pile of blankets down, she couldn't help but notice how the movement pulled at the deep scars on her side. 

_You need to be more careful._ Mahariel chastised herself. _Tamlen's not around to carry you home anymore._

She felt the familiar ache of homesickness deep in her chest, and silently cursed the bear that had sickened her. Yet, she couldn't help but wonder; had she not become a Warden, would anyone be fighting the Blight? Even if Flemeth had rescued Alistair, would he and Morrigan worked together long enough to even reach Lothering? Alistair seemed alright for a human, but he lacked the confidence to lead. Would Zathrian, filled with bitterness as he was, even have entertained the thought of speaking to a human? 

The thought that she was needed here _was_ a comforting one, but the ache remained. Instead of dwelling on it, Mahariel trudged back out into the snow and wind. The only thing she could do to ease the homesickness was distract herself, and that was exactly what she would do. 

* * *

"Merrill!"

Merrill was quick to hide the glass shard in her belongings when she heard the Keeper's voice. She scrambled out of the aravel, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. Once she steadied herself, she hurried past the evening campfires and the hunters' sullen conversations to locate Marethari. The smell of food made her stomach growl, but she cast that aside for now. She could eat later.

"There you are, da'len." The old Keeper smiled as she approached. Despite the smile, she seemed more weary than anything - and she had good reason to be. The clan had lost two of its most promising hunters. One to the Blight, and another to his own foolishness. Merrill missed them, too. Mahariel and Tamlen's absence left a gaping wound in their hearts, but there was nothing that could be done for that. Only time would mend it. A long, long time. 

"Did you need me for something, Keeper?" 

"Yes, da'len, I--"

"Keeper Marethari!" Ineria interrupted her. Both Keeper and First turned to acknowledge her call. They watched as the huntress strode across the camp with another clan's hunter in tow. Though he managed to keep up, his feet dragged in the dirt and his breathing was heavy with exhaustion. Merrill recognized him from their sister clan down south - but what was he doing _here_? "This man says he has a message for you." 

"Andaran atish'an, da'len." Marethari spoke in greeting. "Take a moment to catch your breath, and I will hear this message."

The messenger inclined his head and took a deep breath before he spoke. "I bring word from Warden Mahariel. She has invoked the Grey Warden treaties and requires hunters for an army that will stop the Blight." 

Merrill gasped. Mahariel? Had she heard correctly? Mahariel was alive, and not only that, she was building an army to fight the Darkspawn? The conversations of the hunters had fallen silent. They had heard the name, as well. Merrill glanced to Marethari. It was rare to see the Keeper surprised, but the messenger's words had clearly caught her off guard. 

"Mahariel? Truly?"

"Yes, Keeper. She asked me to express that she had not wanted to involve her own clan in this, and that she misses you all greatly." 

Merrill saw Marethari smile sadly at that. "As we all miss her, I am sure." 

"Excuse me, lethallin." It had been Fenarel who interrupted. He handed his bowl to Chandan as he stood and approached. No one had to guess what he was about to ask; they had all been wondering the same thing. "One of our hunters disappeared after we heard about Ostagar. We thought he might've gone to find Mahariel. He wasn't with her, was he?" 

"Ir abelas, I'm afraid not." The messenger replied. "She had a number of people following her, but none of them were Dalish."

Marethari sighed, but simply shook her head. "It will not do to wonder about Tamlen's fate." Fenarel seemed to deflate considerably as he sat back down with the hunters. Merrill couldn't blame him. Tamlen had been a pest, but he had also been a friend. 

The Keeper spoke again, interrupting Merrill's thoughts even as she spoke to the messenger. "I thank you for bringing us this news. If you would like, you are welcome to stay in our camp for the night. There is still food left in the pots if you are hungry."

"I would be delighted to take you up on that, Keeper." 

"On you go, then. In the morning you can take word back to Mahariel. Let her know that we will stand with her." Marethari then dismissed him with a gesture. He bowed politely, before he left to make good on her offer of a warm meal. 

The Keeper then turned to Merrill, a bittersweet smile on her face. The First's mind was still reeling. Mahariel was alive. _Alive_. It was a relief to know that the humans had been wrong. Not every Warden had died at Ostagar. Her friend was still out there, fighting in whatever way she could. 

"You should eat, as well, da'len." Marethari spoke softly. "We'll have much to do come morning." 

Merrill nodded silently, before she wandered off to do just that. Though news of Mahariel's survival was good, the clan now faced the reality that they would have to send more hunters away to face the Darkspawn. Who else would be taken away before the Blight ended? 

_Mythal watch over us all._


End file.
